


The Nightmares of Command

by TheFlamingNymph



Series: Different Facets, Different Fates [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Demonic Possession, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Grinding, Guilt, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Support/Angst, Survivor Guilt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlamingNymph/pseuds/TheFlamingNymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been ten years since she left the tower, and the events that have shaken Thedas to the core have more than left their mark on the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and the Commander of Inquisition Forces. They are barely the people they used to be, and now duty has called on them to work together for a common cause. Can they help each other with their respective burdens, or drown under the weight?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Commander?

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all advice and constructive criticism welcome!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Revised 7-8-15, to make it not so pitifully short and rushed, and to add in some background cuteness.

The mood around Skyhold had been at an all time high in the scant couple of weeks it had been since Corypheus had been defeated. This was not the first time he had caught some young couple snuck away for a moment of affection. Though it was in fact the beginning of Spring, what with all the cliches of what was in the air and whatnot, Cullen suspected the sudden onslaught of romance in the hold had been more to do with the festive mood combined with the Inquisitors VERY open display of love an affection during the aftermath. He could scarcely believe the mage had, during the larger celebration of victory, gotten down on one knee in front of the Seeker and declared, with Leliana as the new Divine, and mages now being free, he wished to be free to marry her. Josephine, however, was overjoyed to be planning a wedding.

And while this wasn’t the first time he had caught a young couple tucked away in a corner somewhere, this was the first time any such seen had reminded him so strongly of himself. It was a simple thing, a raw recruit was stumbling all over himself trying to talk to one of the young mages that had signed on to the Inquisition properly once the Mage-Templar war had ended. When she caught sight of the Commander she had simply placed a finger over the poor boys mouth before he embarrassed himself further and kissed his cheek, departing in the stunned silence that followed.

Cullen shook his head, heading up the steps and into the Main Hall. He remembered the days when he had been just as that recruit was, all raw feeling and no tact in the face of a mage with too much raw intelligence and cunning. If he wanted to phrase it poetically. Perhaps Josephine was wearing off on him. He would have to fix that, he supposed, but allowed himself to linger on the memories. It was just recently that they had stopped causing him as much pain as they once had, and it was pleasant to be reminded that he was once just a young man, albeit a Templar, with common experiences.

Maker’s mercy, everyone in the Circle had to have known his feelings back then, but he could never say them himself. Even if he had had the courage, it would have caused too much trouble for them both. So he had to make himself content with admiring her from afar. Tucking the longer of her mismatched braids behind an ear as she read in her favorite armchair, ignoring how low the candles around her got until they sputtered out. Some nights she slept in the chair, too enraptured to stop reading, him too nervous to wake her.

He pushed his way into the War Room, going over reports with the Inquisitor and the other two advisers as normal. They were currently trying to track down any remnants of Corypheus’ forces that may have scattered when the Magister and his general fell. So far they had only found small pockets of resistance, mostly red lyrium crazed creatures that fell off from the main force than anything truly representing a great threat. The meeting wrapped up in short order, and he gathered his stack of paperwork to be done for the day.

“Commander?” Leliana’s lilting voice drew his eyes up to her as he half-grunted a response. “We were expecting a delegate of the Wardens to arrive this morning to discuss with us the terms of a continued alliance, but something seems to have delayed them. When they arrive, I will send them to your office, as the Wardens have been under your command.”

“Yes, I suppose that will do.” He responded warily. Luckily for him, most Wardens seemed to be down to earth and not as... Insufferable as nobles, so it shouldn’t be an issue to entertain one until business was concluded. He made his way from the Main Hall to his office in his tower, sitting down and sorting through the stack of reports. He pulled the first of the papers from his stack and regarded it solemnly. Most resistance had come out of Sarhnia in Emprise du Lion due to the red lyrium mine located there. That would be the first order of business.

It was an hour or so before the first knock sounded at his door to signal the beginning of the messengers’ daily dance about Skyhold. He called for them to let themselves in, worn brown boots coming into view about the edge of his desk as he finished writing his current missive. He sanded it and looked it over before looking up at the messenger.

And decided that if there was a Maker, then the Commander did not agree with his sense of humor.

“Commander Cullen? Warden-Commander Amell of Ferelden, Josephine said you would be the one to speak to about my men.” It wasn’t the same face, at least not the same as he remembered. The roundness of youth had been thinned by the trials of experience. The once rosy cheeks were windburned, and her plump lips, once the source of many an inappropriate thought, were chapped. New lines etched through her face, creases at the corners of her eyes, less curious now and more calculating and wary. “Is now a bad time, Commander? I can return later.” Her weight shifted, and the metal of her mail clinked as it resettled into it’s new position. “Commander?”

“I... Hello.” Oh, Maker, it would be a kindness to be struck down for that display of eloquence.

“Hello.” She responded slowly, her brow furrowing in the middle. “Should I come back later?”

“Forgive me, I’m sorry. I’ve been alone with the maps too long again. I fear I tend to forget civility after a while.” He shook his head slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to clear his head between the concerns of his reports and this new development which reeked of Leliana. “Warden-Commander Amell. I wasn’t expecting such a prestigious visitor, I was expecting our contact would be a simple ambassador from Weisshaupt. It is nice to see you again.”

“I feared you might not remember me. It has been such a long time since I lived in the tower. Almost twelve years now?” Her lips twisted into a wistful smile.

“Something along those lines.” He ran a hand over his hair, unsure of how to continue. Part of him was elated to see her, and once again he found himself blaming the Inquisitor for his - romantic? - state of mind. He cursed himself for his wandering thoughts earlier. Surely this would be not so big of an issue if such thoughts weren’t so fresh in his mind. She had been his first infatuation, in fact, his only infatuation. He had no reason to conclude anything but it being one-sided, and he would not endear himself to her by playing a fool. Besides, that was miles away in a different life, with a very different man. He figured he should probably respond in kind with her tone of professionalism.“How may I assist you? You said something about Josephine sending you here?”

“Yes. She said you would be the one to speak to about recalling my Wardens from the field. I need to consult with them first before I make any lasting decisions that would impact them. There is a lot to consider after the events of Adamant and the troubling whispers I hear coming from the Anderfels. Leliana tells me the Champion of Kirkwall will be returning soon, with her own account of Weisshaupt.” She shifted her weight again, among the gentle clinking of moving rings. Her armor was different than that of the other Wardens he had seen at Skyhold, not regular Warden robes, but not full armor either. It was a hybrid of the two, he supposed, judging from the silverite griffon breast plate attached over blue half-robes, augmented with chain over the stomach and skirt of the whole ordeal. A sword rested on her hip instead of a staff at her back, and that intrigued him, but it didn’t seem proper to ask.

“Your men have been bolstering our own soldiers for the time being. I’ll send the order to recall them, but it can take up to a fortnight to pull them all from the field, barring any surprises.” He made a mental note to send the orders once she had left. He was pleased to find he was able to talk to her easily, but he supposed that had to do more to the nature of their conversation than anything else. He could talk about military and tactics to anyone for any length of time, regardless.

“A fortnight in which I ask you not to reveal who I am.” Her arms crossed over the stylized breast plate. “Only a select few, indeed, just the Inquisitor and his inner circle, know who I really am. The rest think I am what you expected, some far removed official from Weisshaupt.”

“Why the secrecy, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

“While I have a _wonderfu_ l track record in turning would-be assassins into steadfast allies, there will eventually be a time where I fail to be so lucky. With the late Warden-Commander Clarel’s actions, I find that some may blame me for being absent and unable to stop her. To some, that would warrant my death, _naturally_. Until I have the information to make an official stance and try to make reparations for the actions of the Order and repair our reputation, again, I would prefer to not make myself a target.” The sudden disdain and sarcasm in her voice forced him to bite back a smirk.. “My apologies. It’s beneath me to gripe about such things.”

“Not at all. I understand.” He pulled out a sheaf of blank parchment to begin writing the recall orders. “If you need anything at all, this is where I usually reside.”

“Thank you, Commander.” She turned towards the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. “Commander Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“I’m pleased to see neither Kirkwall nor the Red Templars managed to claim you. It’s comforting to see a familiar face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and con-crit welcomed with open arms, and kudos make me squee.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 7-8-15 for more consistency with the Warden-Commander's personality and to adjust to revisions in the first chapter.

This particular battle had been raging for days, according to Josephine. Ever since her boot had first touched Skyhold soil, if the Antivan was to be believed. Since only the inner circle currently knew her identity, it could only be conducted in their presence, away from the chattering nobles that frequented the hall. This had driven them out to the battlements, where the wind stole their words before they could travel much farther than the other’s ears. Cullen had found himself seeking them out to verify the truth of the rumors, and, even at the Warden-Commander’s expense, was glad that the dwarf had someone new to nettle. It gave him a well needed reprieve.

“I need details. Details make the story, and there’s a gaping whole in yours! Of all the wild tales of your adventures, there’s nothing on what happened between you lighting the beacon at the Battle of Ostagar, and when you arrived in Lothering. What happened?”

“I survived.”

“No shit?” Varric threw his arms up, frustrated by the unyielding Hero. “And here I thought you were just a very convincing corpse. Would you even answer a question as simple as what in the world is up with your armor? And the sword. Pardon me if I’m wrong here, but isn’t your specialty fireballs and robes and not swords and chain mail?” At this point, the blond was just about desperate, trying to get an answer just to prove he could.

“Master Tethras, if you don’t mind me asking, what is with your obsession with mage apparel? I do believe it’s brought up at least once in The Tale of the Champion, though to be honest, I thought he would ditch the feathers once he was in warmer climates.”

“Wait a minute here... Are you saying you knew Blondie?”

“If I answer that, will you give me my space back?” She asked, not cruelly, but wearily.

“Sure.”

“I not only knew Anders, but I conscripted him from the Templars that had come to claim him. I even gave him a cat. Ser Pounce-a-Lot. He’s become quite the mouser.”

The dwarf’s eyes only got wider, trying to leap onto the thin string of a lead that he was given, only to have her smile and give him a knowing look before walking away to enjoy the peace she had bartered for walking the battlements. That’s where Cullen found her a few hours later, once he managed to coordinate reports between Josephine and Inquisitor Trevelyan. It was slower going with them trying to encourage Leliana to pick a successor as Spymaster once she officially became Divine.

“The first of your Wardens returned late into the night, Warden-Commander.” He told her as he passed by, thumbing thought the stack of reports that needed his attention.

“What? Oh, good, thank you.” She had turned to face him as he passed, leaning herself against a crumbling parapet, metal scrapping stone. “Might I ask you something, Commander?”

“Certainly.” He wasn’t looking forward to going through the rotas anyways, and there was something in her tone that caused him some worry. An uncertainty or doubt that contradicted with what he knew of the Warden-Commander.

“Are you aware that Anders was a Grey Warden?” She asked, tucking the longer of her braids behind an ear.

“I’d heard something of the sort.” That was the last topic he had expected her to broach with him.

“I conscripted him myself. Not many people outside the Wardens know that. I had found him in Vigil’s Keep after I liberated it from a darkspawn incursion. Templars arrived soon afterwards. He was a repeat escapist, that happened to be his seventh escape attempt, actually. They were probably going to label him a Maleficar, true or not, to rid themselves of the trouble. So I conscripted him.” She confessed, looking upwards instead of at him, watching the clouds trace across the sky. “I find myself wondering... If I hadn’t taken sympathy with him, if I had let the Templars take him. The Chantry, in Kirkwall...”

“You’re not responsible for what happened in Kirkwall, Warden-Commander. While, yes, he was a Grey Warden of Ferelden, it had been what? Six years since he went AWOL? At that point, any and all blame resides with him.”

“Thank you, Commander, it is a relief to hear. When the Circles disbanded, I can’t say I wasn’t pleased, for obvious reasons, but I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible. Hearing you, a Templar, and one that was there at the time of the... Incident... It helps put my mind at ease.” She offered him a small smile. “My apologies, I’ve taken you from your responsibilities.” Her eyes fell to the stack of papers in his arms. “Perhaps I could help? It’s dreadfully dull sitting around and waiting. I was never one for idle time.”

“The majority of these are guard and scout rotas, nothing dreadfully important or exciting. I couldn’t ask you that.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I did the asking. I had a seneschal at Amaranthine that usually handled that sort of thing for me, but I did have him teach me. If anything, it’ll go faster with two.” She followed him to his office, helping him with the rotas with professional efficiency, asking him questions of the Inquisition as they worked. She said little in turn about herself, and he found himself too unsure to ask anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I welcome any advice and constructive criticism, or just compliments if you liked it! And kudos make me squee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander of the Grey introduces Cullen to a Warden tradition, and moderation is the key to any vice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated and rewritten: 7-9-15

“Can’t sleep?”

“Oh, sweet Maker!” The curse was out before he could even consider how foolish it sounded. He finally picked out the glint of her armor in the torchlight, sitting between two crumbling parapets. The short expanse between his tower and the next was usually empty at this time of night, he hadn’t expected to find her lurking out here. Then again, he had forgotten that she had moved herself into the disused tower, insisting she didn’t want to take any of the suites usually reserved for visiting dignitaries and nobles.

“Can’t say that helped. My apologies. I find myself restless tonight as well.” She shifted off of the stone, stretching with her arms above her head. “Most nights, if I’m forced to be honest with myself.”

“I know the feeling.” While his struggle with lyrium had been decidedly on an upward trend after the Inquisitor’s intervention, it hadn’t meant the worst of it was over. The pain was worse tonight than it had been in a while, and had driven any thought of sleep from his mind. Nights like this, sleep only claimed him once he was completely spent, so he usually paced the battlements when there wasn’t work enough to keep his attention.

“Would you like a drink, Commander?” She asked, tipping her head to the side in a manner reminiscent of the mage apprentice she had once been. He found it out of place on the Warden-Commander, but oddly endearing. A little quirk war hadn’t stolen from her. He had found over the past week that war and battle had taken much from the women, at least it seemed to when he compared the woman before him now to the rose-tinted images of the girl he used to know.

“Excuse me?”

“A drink, Commander. In the tavern. Nothing untoward, just a drink between fellow commanders. What do you say?” She walked closer to him as she spoke, the light from the torch on the wall behind him washing her face in a flickering orange glow. It caught the shiny line of a thin scar across her right cheek he hadn’t noticed before.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Perhaps a drink would calm his nerves and bring some warmth back in his hands and he could finally sleep.

She smiled, leading him through the tower she had claimed in a short cut to the tavern. It looked much the same as it had before it was occupied, except with the rubble cleared and the second floor repaired, so messengers could still use the short cut with minimal disturbances to her. It had remained unused and un-repaired so long he wondered who had actually done it, and suspected there was a fair chance she had herself.

Once they had descended the stairs into the tavern proper she slipped behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of alcohol and two glasses with surprising efficiency. She almost looked chagrined when she noticed him watching. “I spoke to Cabot, he said so long as I cleaned up after myself and left him a tip for excellent service, he wouldn’t complain... Too much.” She set down the glasses and poured them both a drink before she took a seat. “To sleepless nights.” She clinked her glass to his before taking a sip.

“And too much work waiting in the morning.” He answered with a wry smirk. A silence fell between them, summoned by the lack of a work related topic, he supposed. She contemplated her drink quietly, as if unused to the company.

“I had quite forgotten that alcohol could be palatable, let alone enjoyable.” She said after a length of time, and half chuckled at his quizzical look. “Ever hear of Conscription Ale? It’s a sort of tradition among the Grey Wardens, especially those that travel a lot. You can’t carry a lot with you, so you combine half-bottles of alcohol so you carry less. Well, that bottle gets drained about halfway before another bottle is added. It never truly empties, and in the end, well. It’s not always pleasant. Despite that, it’s a tradition my boys seem to hold quite sacred.” Her cup was still half full, but already she seemed to be finding her words easier, a little more casual.

“Your boys?”

“Yeah, my boys.”

“A mother to your men, then?” The thought was amusing, considering all the Wardens he had seen definitely did not seem like the type to be coddled by their commander.

“Hardly.” She rolled her eyes, looking bemused. “It’s hard to be a mother to your men when you’re younger than them. Maker, I’m still younger than even most of our fresh recruits.” She shook her head, refilling their glasses, running a finger around the edge of the glass, until a thin frost settled on it. “Want me to do yours too?” She had already reached out, so he allowed it. “Could you imagine Irving’s face, using my magic for cooling drinks? There’d be a lecture in there somewhere about a gross misuse of the primal forces under my command.”

It was as simple as that. Just the mention of Irving, of that shared time before the Wardens and the Inquisition, before the Blight and the Circle falling, that allowed the formality to falter.

“You know, now that I think on it, you’re the only person I know that knew me before the Blight. Everyone else is gone, or missing. Everyone I had ever known growing up. Even Owain, and he seemed like he would rule that stockroom until Thedas crumbled around him. I heard what happened to the Tranquil.” She shuddered. “It’s... Really nice to talk to someone from before, you know. Thank you.” A little weight seemed to lift from her shoulders.

“My pleasure.” He answered, then blushed. Maker, but she was being polite about the whole thing. It wasn’t as if he deserved kind words. While yes, it was nice to talk to someone from before Thedas went crazy, it wasn’t like he had parted with her on anywhere good enough terms to warrant this goodwill. Especially since one of his last comments indirectly implied she may in fact be an abomination.

“But things have changed a lot since then, haven’t they? Thedas isn’t even the same anymore. Do you ever just look back and wonder how so much could change in twelve years?”

“I try not to, life makes more sense that way.”

“You try not to look back a being a Templar, you mean.” It was said without the malice he normally experienced from mages who knew of or discovered his past. Even the Inquisitor had bristled at him at first. “It’s why you stopped taking lyrium, isn’t it?”

“I- how di- who told you?” He hadn’t told anyone but those who needed to know, indeed not even the full inner circle knew, but most suspected.

A deeper blush, one not from the first two cups of alcohol, spread over her cheeks. That confused him almost as badly as how she knew about the lyrium. “It sounds weird, okay? You smell different. It’s like... I don’t know, a mage thing? Well, it might not be, but I’ve never heard a non-mage mention it. We can smell the lyrium or something, some can smell it better than others. I used to be able to tell roughly when a draught had recently been taken, while Jowan just thought you all used the same soap.” She drained her cup, letting her hair fall to cover her face, reaching to refill her cup for the third time. He was only half way through his second glass.

“Really? That is... Odd, but I think I recall Dorian mentioning something about it.”

“I didn’t mean to bring up anything uncomfortable.” She said quietly, her finger tracing the rim of the cup again, making it sing.

“Its just not something I want making the rounds at the barracks.”

“Of course not.” She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear again. “They look up to you, your soldiers. You’re this, I don’t know, this great force wearing the name of Commander, and that’s easier for them to believe in than just a man. They don’t need to know things that detract from that image. It does shite for morale.” Her words were coming out impassioned, but slurred, and at ‘shite’ she snorted at herself.

“Sounds like you speak from experience.” He was still mostly clear headed, just relaxed. Despite the uncomfortable turn of conversation, he found her show of emotion and embarrassment and her understanding made it easier to bear. Like he could confide if he had to.

“All Grey Wardens suffer nightmares. All of us. Even dwarves. They get worse during Blights and those who Join during Blights.” She snorted a little into her drink again, leaning low over the bar with her elbows braced on it. “Lucky me, right? Then, some people are effected more than others, some are sensitive. Strike two for me, as if that wasn’t enough shite. Andraste’s ass, then you add the fact I’m a bloody mage on top of everything else! And yet, my boys can’t know that.” Her eyebrows had drawn down into a hard line. “If it’s not bloody nightmares of the Deep Roads, it’s night terrors of the Blight, the Battle of Denerim usually, and if those spare me, then the demons come.” Her words faltered into the quiet of the tavern at the end.

“Demons?” That word cut through him. That was the one thing no mage ever brought up into conversation willingly with a Templar, former or no.

“Don’t take that tone. I’m not a bloody moron like the majority of mages. Pretending I’m smart enough never to fall to a demons tricks. They want the powerful, and I am that. We’re harder to possess, sure, but we’re worth the bloody effort. The older I get, the more they have to use against me. More regrets, more pains, more wants, more things I denied myself. They know this, and so they try.” The third glass had passed by now, and the fourth was half through. The liquid was disappearing quicker the more uncomfortable the conversation became. “I never thanked you, did I?” She sat straight up, listing slightly to the side. “I meant to, but I suppose I hadn’t.”

“Thanked me, thank me for what?” Her sudden onslaught of information was worrisome, most mages never acknowledged their vulnerability to demons for fear of persecution. He wondered if it was the alcohol making her confide in him, or the fact he may be the only person she thought she could tell.

“Standing at my Harrowing, being in charge of the killing blow. I... It was easier going into the Fade knowing that. You always did right by the mages in your charge, you know? So I knew you’d only strike me down if necessary, but that if it was necessary, you wouldn’t hesitate, and no one would come to harm. It made me more confident. Shite, I’m babbling like a prepubescence apprentice.”

More confident? Had she gone into her Harrowing with any more confidence, he would have worried she was already possessed by a Pride demon. Still, the words left him warm. Her confidence had been maddening in the tower, as he stumbled over his words in any attempt to talk to her. It had been tempered by the fact she never seemed to judge him for it. Maybe it would have been better if she had been as haughty as the other mages.

“I don’t recall you babbling like this as an apprentice.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have, would you? You were against the wall in your armor. Jowan though, Jowan got to watch me babble through it all, when he wasn’t whining, that is. He was never very good at listening. He had his own problems, and more than me. I listened. He was my friend... And a bloody bloody blood mage.” She covered her mouth as she giggled, like it had happened against her will. “I was doing the right thing, you know? I had told Irving what was happening, and he told me to do it. I did the right thing, and I got bloody conscripted for it. Damned if I didn’t, damned that I did. That’s shite, isn’t it? Bloody Jowan lied to me and I paid the price.” She pushed her empty glass away from her and got up, or at least tried. Her foot went out from under her and he caught her under the arm, the momentum causing her to thump into his chest. Her other arm went up to his shoulder for support, her head against his chest as she struggled for balance. “I got bloody conscripted, and I never got to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” He seized on the question to ignore how close she was to him, and the flush that had nothing to do with alcohol creeping up his neck. She seemed to have given up on fully supporting herself and was just hanging onto him, her fingers intertwined into the fur of his pauldrons. “You were a textbook example of a well behaved apprentice.”

“Except where I invited a Templar back to my bed, right? Shite I came on strong.” She was shaking, but he couldn’t tell if it was from giggling or crying. The flush grew hotter and he was only too aware of her proximity and what her words were confirming. “But that’s the lot of mages. If you’re not blunt, nothing happens. Anders used to say that’s what the robes were for. Stupid asshole.”

He shifted her away from his chest and moved to support her like you would a wounded ally, guiding her gently towards the stairs. “It’s okay.” He said softly, navigating the stairs carefully, taking her back to her tower. She sunk into a cot in the corner, both of them unwilling to have her risk the ladder.

“Cullen?” His stomach flipped at the sound of his name without his title, and the raw vulnerability in her voice.

“Yes, Serafina?”

“If the demons get me, I’m counting on you.”

He didn’t want to think on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just have to say, I was going to write this more slowly, but ideas keep coming, and I kinda squee anytime I see my kudo count go up. This was my first (and currently only) kudo'd work. I'm so easy to please. I'm lame. As always, feel free to comment, compliment, constructive criticize, or give me some advice!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds himself bereft of his normal early morning routine, giving him way too much time to think. Even less helpfully, Varric has been thinking far too much.
> 
> Revised: 7-10-15

He had meant to fill him morning with menial but involved work, such as guard and patrol rotations, deployments and such, so he wouldn’t have time to think. There were too many questions that were raised in the wake of the previous night, that, and the beginning of a headache. He’d barely gotten dressed and settled himself behind his desk when the first knock sounded at his door. With a disgruntled sigh, he invited them in.

“Message from the Weisshaupt Warden.” They had taken to calling her that in the absence of her providing any other information about herself.

“Yes, what is it?” He reached his hand out, wondering how she was even conscious enough to send a message this early in the morning, given her state the night before.

“It appears to be... Rotas, ser?” The messenger seemed as confused as he was. The packet was thick, and as he flipped through he found the rotas neatly written in her clear, simple script. Extra notations accompanied certain decisions, and a small note was written on the last page.

> _I hope I’m not overstepping myself. I found myself awake and unable to sleep again, so I set myself to task. Changes pending your approval, of course._
> 
> _-S_

“By the Maker... That is enough, thank you.” He shook his head and dismissed the messenger, looking back through the rotas. Most changes were simple, just swapped between people. Certain absences were explained in her notations. He was surprised when he found them explaining birthdays, and in one case, the birth of a child to a guard he wasn’t even aware was married. Shame burnt briefly in him, until he realized that he shouldn’t feel so bad. There were hundreds of men under his command, he couldn’t be expected to know everything about them. But, if that were true, how did she? He hadn’t even seen her interacting with his soldiers.

He found himself robbed of his morning plans, with nothing else in sight until the rest of Skyhold woke and missives started buzzing around like flies. With the Inquisitor leaving the morning before, there would be less to do overall, since most things needed to be run by the Freemarcher first. He was alone with his thoughts, and that was something he had actively avoided since he first decided he was no longer going to take lyrium. The worst was the nightmares which plagued him every night, but he found when given too much time to think, he could worry himself into a waking nightmare of paranoia and hallucinations. He found that while that was still a concern, it wasn’t the thing that worried him the most. This would give him too much time to think about the Warden-Commander, and the things she had said. It was easy in her presence to forget the analytical side of himself, the side that made him well suited to judging battles and chess games, the motives of the opponents and players, and come out ahead. It was that part of him that had helped cement his position as Commander of the Inquisition. As always though, that tendency tended to hinder him more than help when it came to personal affairs.

I’m pleased to see neither Kirkwall nor the Red Templars managed to claim you. It’s comforting to see a familiar face. And that Maker-damned smile, the barely there smile that spoke of a nervousness to her words. As if she were afraid he wouldn’t return the sentiment. As if he hadn’t said all those horrible things to her when they parted twelve years ago. As if she weren’t the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Champion of Kirkwall and a figure of reverence to an entire nation, and at least demanded respect from a handful more. She had expressed a gratitude to his continued existence, personally. Maker, he was no longer the stumbling idiot he had been in the Circle, he understood that what he had felt then was indeed attraction, but nothing more than a passing infatuation that plagued even the most devout of men from time to time. Or so he thought. She still managed to muddle his thoughts, even though he held himself together better now.

Except where I invited a Templar back to my bed, right? Andraste’s burning pyre. He had convinced himself, after she had left with that Warden, Duncan, that the invitation had been just to talk. There was no way she could have meant it in the way that secret, forbidden part of him had wanted. She couldn’t have been inviting him for anything else, how could she after asking him if he’d really have cut her down if she’d failed her Harrowing. He could still remember the conversation all too clearly.

_“Oh, um, uh... h-hello. I-i uh, I-I’m glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly.”_

_“Hello, Cullen.” There was a ghost of a smile on her face, her eyes twinkling. She was still in the blue robes of an apprentice. She probably hadn’t even visited her new rooms yet. Why had she stopped to talk to him?_

_“Th-they picked me as the Templar to strike the killing blow if-if you became an Abomination. I-it’s nothing personal, I swear! I-uh I-I’m just glad you’re alright, you know?” What he had planned to say had sounded better in his head, but it was just like him to stick his foot in it and mention the might-have-had-to-kill-you part of it instead of complimenting her._

_“Would you really have struck me down?” Her tone was more curious that accusatory, her head tilted slightly to the side as she watched his face._

_“I would have felt terrible about it. But, um, but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded.” The answer seemed to satisfy her, for whatever reason._

_“Maybe we could go elsewhere and... Continue our discussion?” Her eyes broke away from him now, looking at the carpet as if it were suddenly interesting, before peeking back up in time for a fierce blush to cover his face._

_“Else-elsewhere? Wha? What do you mean?” He was hoping for the floor to just swallow him whole at that moment._

_“I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Doubt had crept into her voice then, but he hadn’t heard it, not over the sound of blood in his ears. She tucked the longer of her braids behind an ear, waiting for a response._

_“Ooh, my goodness. Uh, If you’re saying what... I think... Well... That would, no, that would be really inappropriate and... Ooh, I couldn’t. I... I should go.” He had run then, literally ran away and left her there with a confused look on her face._

He had been so angry with himself after, telling himself he could have answered differently, kept his cool, something other than just leaving her in the hall, staring after him. He hadn’t known then that it was going to be the last chance he had of speaking to her. It was just hours later when the Knight-Commander had called on him and Duncan to accompany him and Irving down to the repository. He could clearly remember how firm she had been stating that she was acting on Irving’s orders, and how heartbroken she sounded when telling Greagoir that Jowan had lied to her. She hadn’t wanted to leave the Circle, even as Irving told her about his hopes for her, but finally she had wiped Jowan’s blood from her face and nodded, accepting her fate. His helmet had been on, and his tongue was glued to roof of his mouth, so she never knew he was right there. He never said anything as Duncan led her to gather her things out of a room she had never used.

The next he saw her, he was out of his mind from torture and grief. She had crouched across from him, the barrier in between them, trying to calm him with quiet words and assurances. He had yelled at her, revealed his feelings and his regrets about them, and she had taken it all. She hadn’t raised her voice at all, just squared her shoulders and stood once he was done, walking towards the Harrowing chamber with a look of determination. It didn’t dawn on him until after, until his head had cleared some, that she knew what kind of danger she was risking. As horrific as Abominations were, as twisted, they still held some resemblence to the mage they used to be. How many former friends had she cut down before she reached him? How many classmates? Mentors? And she took his abuse quietly.

A knock on the door drew him from his regrets, and he looked up as Varric entered the room, walking up to his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked dryly. He didn’t dislike the dwarf, but the dwarf did have a tendency to either complicate things, or at the least, distract from work that needed to be done. Not that he had any work at this particular moment to use as an excuse to shoo him out of the room.

“Commander.” He said warmly, a tone of voice that sat as well with Cullen as a room full of posturing nobles. “You know, the Inquisitor and I were talking about Hawke and her time in Kirkwall when, what do you know, our favorite former Templar came up in discussion...”

“And?”

“Well, it occurred to me you made a comment. A small one, but right after Hawke reclaimed the Amell estate.”

Cullen really wasn’t liking where his tone of voice was going. It felt like a trap, and the small voice at the back of his head, wondered if this was anything like how mages felt when a demon was trying to trick them. ”A comment, of millions I made to Hawke over the years there.”

“Well, this particular one stood out. Specifically because, you know, the Amell estate.”

This wasn’t going in a better direction. “Yes.”

“Well, you said you knew an Amell. I believe the words were something like she was a ‘special woman’, and you hadn’t met anyone like her since.”

Andraste’s burning pyre! Why did the dwarf have to remember the _one_ **most** embarrassing comment he had made in all the years he was in Kirkwall. No doubt he had had quite a chuckle to himself when he made the connection between the comment and the Warden-Commander. Why was the room so hot all of a sudden?

“I said no such thing.” The words came too quick, and sounded too false. Yet still he tried, tried to save some shred of pride from the rogue’s knowing grin.

“Your secret is safe with me, Curly, so long as the kid doesn’t tell anyone else he saw you escorting the drunk Warden-Commander to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to listen to the Amell After-Harrowing talk with Cullen so many times to get the dialogue right. Lemme tell you, I'll never get tired of his voice, but you just HAVE to cringe after hearing him stutter so much, especially with how far he's come by Inquisition. Still adorkable, but he can string more words together. :-P
> 
> Either way, comments and constructive criticism welcome, and the kudos button makes me squee, as always.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the Wardens finally make it to Skyhold, which is a big relief to the Warden-Commander, but not so much to the Commander of Forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a little bit of Serafina's POV, seriously, should not be as hard as it is to get into my own characters head.

The last of the Wardens arrived a week later. Serafina had spent most of that week between Josephine and the cook, trying to coordinate efforts to ensure they had enough food for the Wardens. She found herself missing Garavel, that man had made feeding Vigil’s Keep and keeping it stocked seem like a trivial matter, but now that she was seeing the figures herself, she was floored. She had Josephine send him a letter asking for any help or advice he could muster, and to let the poor man know that his Arlessa still lived, at the very least.

She was in the courtyard, talking with Cole when they arrived. She had been distressed by the spirit at first, and how he could pry at the parts of her she had long since hidden from everyone. She found herself opening up to him slowly. She didn’t know if she was doing it because it made her feel better, or because she liked seeing the spirit’s face light up when he believed he had helped. His childlike enthusiasm was endearing. He had been thrilled when she came to him with Cullen’s rotas, allowing the spirit to reveal what he knew of the soldier’s pains and telling him she’d do her best to help.

She looked up as the Wardens were announced, her neck straining as she looked through the group, her brow knitting together tightly. She could feel the weight of worry bearing down on her chest, and she couldn’t shake it. This was the last group, after this... That was all the Wardens in Ferelden and Orlais.

“Bow string thrums and an arrow is sticking out of the ham. Breaths caught as they all stare. A single laugh, then several more. The whole hall is laughing, the tension ebbing away.” She looked briefly at the sickly boy, wondering at how clearly her mind was laid bare to him. Did that memory actually cause pain enough for him to read it? She shook the thought and looked more, catching sight of a flash of red. Her heart leapt and she shifted, there was the axe and a bow.

“Nathaniel!” She caught clear sight of him first, rushing forward despite the voice at the back of her head telling her this wasn’t appropriate behavior for a commander. She didn’t care, she deserved this one moment of being human. She threw her arms around him, ignoring the entirely baffled look on his face as he stuttered out a bewildered “My lady?”. She didn’t let go until he returned her hug, before she dropped down and hugged the dwarf, kissing his cheek and trying to ignore the smell of stale alcohol which always made her nose wrinkle.

“Mighty handsy there, boss, did the drinking start without me?” He grumbled from under his beard. Trust him to deflect honest affection by turning it lewd.

“I’m not drunk, you ass.” And wasn’t planning on drinking again for a while. She could barely remember the night with Cullen, only that words she wouldn’t normally say had been tumbling out of her, things she should never have said to a templar, ex or not, and things she just wish she hadn’t. She remembered the smell of smoke and sweat and parchment, and something soft under her hands, but had woken in a cot on the bottom floor of her tower. “I was worried about you two.” That little admission took a lot out of her.

“You’re thinner.” The elder Warden’s intent was clear, though his made his statement in a completely conversational tone. It was a personality trait of his, she supposed, how he spoke to her deferentially in public, too well bred and well trained in a military respect to be able to talk to her in anything but a respectful tone, seeing as she was his Commander. Sometimes he would drop it in more private settings, like when it was just them and their merry band of misfits bringing peace and prosperity to his father’s old holdings. She nodded once to acknowledge his concern.

“A lot of things have happened in the past year, haven’t they? I suppose I’ll have to have all of you convene with me once you’re better rested. Please go easy on the Cook, she nearly killed me when I provided her with an updated rations requisition.” She smiled at them, letting them go get themselves cleaned up. She could catch up with her friends later.

Friends. She had precious few of those anymore. Leliana was now Divine, Sten was now the Arishok (and she could scarcely believe it when Iron Bull told her), Wynne had died a couple years back, Shale and Morrigan had disappeared beyond her ability to track, Zevran was terrorizing the Crows... Velanna had left to find her sister, Sigrun had returned to the Deep Roads to either finally face her fate as a member of the Legion of the Dead (or perhaps was single-handedly rescuing another thaig, since it seemed the more determined she was to die, the less that happened), Justice and Anders had combined and blown up a blighted Chantry... Only Nathaniel and Oghren remained to her. That, and... No, he was her fellow Commander, nothing more she repeated to herself for the thousandth time that week.

“Friends of yours, Hero?” Varric approached from behind her. She was starting to get used to the dwarf always being present for interesting moments in her day. He really was trying his best to wrestle the truth of her adventures from her. The tales of her exploits changed with every retelling, so no one ever seemed to quite know what she actually did or didn’t do. Consider that most exploits had very fantastic elements to them: demons, abominations, golems, werewolves, undead... Some of them did sound quite unbelievable.

“They helped me defend Vigil’s Keep after the Blight.” She answered simply and swiftly, if only because it amused her to see the frustration flit through his eyes. Simple pleasures like this she could allow herself.

“You hugged them.”

“Do you want a hug as well? I’ll hug you too.” She shrugged at him, and yet, concern fluttered through her as soon as a mischievous glint came into his eyes. That never seemed to be a good thing where this particular rogue was concerned. She thought she had Sera figured out for the most part, if she was up to something, the worst she had to worry about was misplaced clothes, tampered food, or some sort of trap. The story teller though? Words were much more trouble.

“Hug me if you want, Hero, but green is not at all a color that looks good on our dear Commander.”

“What?” Green? He didn’t. No. Not going there. Varric wasn’t implying that Cullen was jealous of... No. Just her fellow Commander. She told herself for the thousand and first time. She tried to force her cheeks to stop burning. Andraste’s tits, it wasn’t like she was a virgin apprentice playing at courtship anymore!

* * *

 

He was an idiot, and really, at his age, he should really really know better. Why hadn’t it occurred to him, at all, that while she was also a Commander like him, she may actually have found time to find comfort in another person? Especially within the Wardens. While he certainly hadn’t expected her particular choice to be so much older than herself, or as especially dour as he seemed, he couldn’t deny the enthusiasm in which she had thrown herself at him. He started to wonder how much of the Circle apprentice he knew was still in the woman. Sometimes she seemed so completely different from what he expected.

He flung a dagger into the well abused training dummy in the corner, sighing heavily. This shouldn’t even be a matter of upset to him. She was the Warden-Commander, a colleague and nothing more. Right, he snorted at himself, which is why you melt anytime she uses your first name. In honesty, he had been grateful she had been so busy over the past week. It had given him time to clear his head and feel like he was regaining some sort of control over his own thoughts.

A second dagger went flying before he realized the door was opening to his office. He glared at the door before he realized it was the Inquisitor, frowning at the display of violence from his Commander. The last few times he had witnessed this level of display was after he almost relapsed, and Samson’s trial. “Sovereign for your thoughts, Commander?” The blond mage seemed quite concerned, but also seemed to realize that coddling was not the way to get anywhere with him.

“Just blowing off steam, Inquisitor.” Why did his own excuses sound so weak? First with Varric, now the Inquisitor.

“Is there anything I can help with?” The mage had always seemed to take extra care in his relationship with his Commander, as if worried the fact he was a mage might change things. It was an appreciated thought, but entirely unnecessary in Cullen’s mind. “Is it?...”

The lyrium, Cullen thought. It was always people’s first concern, at least those that knew. He supposed he should be grateful that that’s what the Inquisitor thought. It did allow him a bit of cover with his changing mood since the Warden-Commander arrived. His symptoms were mild, at least lately. He was experiencing shaking on and off, and the occasional bout of pain, but nothing a few moments to himself and a dose of willpower hadn’t seen him through. He was concerned about what would happen when it got bad again, and he had no doubt that it would get bad again. “I’m fine, Inquisitor. I appreciate the concern.”

“Commander, you know you can come to me if anything’s the matter, right? I mean, I understand you’re my adviser and seeking me out for issues of a personal nature may seem counter-intuitive, but it’s because I rely on you three so much that I need you at your best.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor nodded, paused a moment, then saw himself out of the room.

He suspected Cole might have been the reason why the Inquisitor had come calling. While the Inquisitor was on good terms with all his advisers, and his inner circle (a feat in of itself, considering how many different strong personalities it contained), his timing was never quite so perfect as when Cole was helping him. Sometimes Cullen wondered how much chaos Skyhold would be subject to without the spirit and his ‘help’.

* * *

“Twin hurts, titles that trace the distance between them. A delicate dance, but neither knows the steps, doesn’t know if they dance alone, or together. One hurts for the shadow of what was, and thinks it changes what is, the other hurts for what never was, and may never be. Varric, what do you do when two people hurt the same, but different?” The kid was looking at him with the most genuinely distressed look he had seen on the him, save when he saw him return from the Fade.

“You let them figure it out themselves, kid. Some things can’t be fixed, even by you.” Varric clapped him on the shoulder. “Sometimes they heal better fumbling at it themselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and con-crit welcome, kudos make me squee, and if anyone wants to suggest anything, I'm game for considerations.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, this was my first attempt at smut. I have no clue whether I had succeeded or not. And I really hate writing fight scenes, so the minimal amount required was entered. My apologies. It was very hard for me to write this chapter.

The Warden-Commander was angry after the War Room meeting, that much Cullen could tell in her quick strides and the fact she was completely silent. Rosalie Hawke had arrived that morning, and they had wasted no time in convening and debriefing her. Seeing the two together, there was no doubt that they were related. The physical similarities were few enough, Hawke supposedly took after more of her father than her mother, but for attitude... He was glad they were working together to say the least.

She was stalking from the hall now, her chain mail clashing together in a cacophony that fit her mood. She was heading to her tower, no doubt to figure out her next move.

“I think she’s angry, Curly.” Varric offered helpfully from his customary spot. Hawke was seated on top of the table next to him, staff laid across her lap. Both looked happier to be reunited with their friend.

“Hello, Cullen.” Hawke flashed him a smile with a small wave. Despite being an apostate, she had always remained on amicable terms with Cullen, never stepping on his toes... Too hard, at least.

“Varric, Hawke.” He inclined his head, rubbing his neck and sighing. Really, the Wardens issue had nothing of serious consequence to do with the Inquisition anymore, not after the defeat of Corypheus, but the Inquisitor was personally interested on where their alliance was going. It left him feeling uneasy, knowing that there was nothing he could do, just sit back and wait until the Warden-Commander had her answers for them. “Angry would be an understatement, I believe.”

“You’d think the assholes in Weisshaupt would take a little more care when pissing off the one person that can keep them in good graces with the entirety of Southern Thedas. Not very smart are they?” The shorter blond shook his head, a smirk on his face.

“We’ve learned not everyone makes it into positions of power because they’re smart.” Hawke answered. Cullen wondered if Orsino or Meredith was the first thought on her mind with that statement. Perhaps she even meant Viscount Dumar. Maker knows she spent all of her time in Kirkwall cleaning up mistakes those three made.

“If you’d excuse me, I have a lot to do.” Cullen inclined his head once more before heading off to his office to tackle to pile of the work for the day. He found himself gratefully lost in the piles of work for hours, unable to think of much else until the noise outside his chamber grew too loud to ignore. With a sigh he pushed himself back from his desk, rising and heading out of the door leading to the battlements that overlooked the courtyard. It seemed to always have someone in it, especially since the Inquisitor commissioned the training ring to be put in, but this was the fullest he’d seen it at this hour in a while.

When he spotted the opponents in the ring, he could barely blame them. Blackwall was circling thee edge of the ring, his shield raised aloft, waiting for Serafina to strike. She seemed to be refraining from her magic to make it a more even battle, and the crowd was loving it.By the time he made it down into the courtyard, she had managed to disarm him of his shield, and in another move, had her sword leveled at his throat.

“Well done, my lady.” Blackwall bowed slightly before retrieving his shield, exiting the ring so the next person could take her on.

It would take an idiot to fail to notice she was still angry, her face drawn into harsh lines of concentration. Lines of sweat ran from her temples, plastering loose strands of hair against her face. She readjusted her grip on her blade as she waited, looking around at the gathered crowd. He wondered who would step up when he was roughly pushed forward into the ring. A quick turn of his head revealed a qunari grinning at him, his arms now crossed. The crowd seemed to approve of the new opponent, as his soldiers rallied to him with shouts of “Commander!”, and a smirk quirked her lip.

“I wasn’t... I didn’t want to...” He tried, sighing as she raised an eyebrow and waited, but the cheering was too loud now, and while he hadn’t wanted to spar, it wouldn’t do for his soldiers to see him standing down from what they assumed was just another Grey Warden. He swallowed his protests and drew his sword.

“There’s a history there.” The qunari commented as he sidled up to the Champion and her friend with surprising grace, given his size. “She was toying with Blackwall, Cullen has her full attention.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Tiny.” Varric chuckled. “Sadly, I don’t either, but something’s between them. All I do know is he was a Templar at her circle before she was conscripted.”

“Really? That sounds like something you’d put into one of your novels.”

“Don’t give him ideas.” Hawke shook her head as the dwarf lit up with all the possibilities.

“Aw, c’mon, Waffles. It’s too good to pass up. You do know she’s the Amell he was talking about, right? Remember after you got your estate back? She’s _that_ Amell.”

“What? You’re joking. Oh, Anders is going to love this.” She grinned, watching the fight as it progressed.

The cheer for the Commander was overwhelming, as there were more Inquisition soldiers in the group than Wardens, but it was still heartening. He could feel the sweat start to roll under his armor, and his sword arm was starting to tire from repeated contact with her sword, but neither of them were yielding. Her look was more determined than ever, her lips parted slightly as she panted, skin glistening with sweat. Unbidden, he felt a stab of heat travel to his groin, and he cursed silently. He had told himself after seeing her with Nathaniel that he wasn’t going to let these thoughts happen anymore, but that was proving difficult.

Her sword caught his, and with a deft but powerful jerk of his hand it came sailing free of her hand, leaving her unarmed before him. The crowd started cheering, but she had already twisted to the side, slipping in behind the sword, where usually he would have a shield to bar access, and her left hand seized upon his grieve, holding his arm so he couldn’t move his sword, the long fingers of her right hand pressed against his exposed throat and jaw. Her fingers felt hot against his flesh, and he realized this was the first time he had ever felt her skin against his. Her chest heaved from exertion, and it took her a minute to remind herself this was sparring and nothing more, stepping back out of his arms. “Most times, that wouldn’t be an issue.” She raised her voice turning towards the crowd. “But, I am a mage, and though we usually abstain from close quarters combat, it would be that simple for one of us to slip behind defenses and immolate you, or worse, turn you into a walking bomb. Either option makes it dangerous for the mage in question, but ask yourself: Die alone, or take the enemy down with you?”

She used the stunned silence to make her exit, scooping up her sword as she left, her hips swaying and jerking with the force of her march, and like a fool, Cullen found himself watching, thinking of her skin against his, and the sound of her panting. Maker’s breath, he was such a fool to think years of infatuation could be ignored after one decision made of jealousy.

He left the ring as gracefully as he could as the crowd started murmuring. They weren’t sure what they had just witnessed, and whether their Commander actually won or lost. He made his way back up to his office, cursing himself for leaving it in the first place. He didn’t have time to play in the courtyard, there were too many things to be done. Yet, once he found himself alone in his office again, his thoughts wandered. It was all too easy for his brain to run rampant with the images of her lips parted as she panted, the sweat rolling off of her, the flush in her cheeks from the exertion. Her fingers, calloused but warm, against the vulnerable skin of his throat. Their bodies, inches apart, her eyes pinning him in place with their intensity. He groaned at himself as he found his breeches smaller than he would like, and a persistent throb in his crotch.

He took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. It was inappropriate to get so riled up by something that wasn’t sexual in nature. But, he had seen her in those vulnerable positions before, or at least a demon pretending to be her. Those memories haunted him, images of something he had so desperately wanted, but were so decidedly false. They haunted him still, resurfacing in nightmares. He didn’t know whether he enjoyed those nightmares or not, and that made it worse.

At least the thought of the nightmares was taking the edge off the blood pounding in his groin, making it easier to think, so long as he didn’t think of the specifics. He sighed as he tried to clear the last of the distracting thoughts from his brain. A knock on his door provided the last of the distraction.

“Come in.” He sighed, readying his desk for whatever new papers a messenger was bringing him.

The door opened and shut quietly, and he heard mail instead of clink of boots, and his stomach dropped as he looked up and saw her leaning against the door, chewing the inside of her cheek, the anger gone from her face. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you in the ring.”

“I... That’s quite alright. Everyone needs a chance to vent their frustrations, and it was Bull who pushed me into the ring, so if anyone is to blame...”

“It’s not Bull. It’s Weisshaupt.” She sighed, running a hand over her face, still slightly flushed from the battle. “They’re in fighting so badly it’s ridiculous. Wardens aren’t supposed to be political. That’s not our aim or purpose, we’re the neutral vanguard against the Blight, or we’re supposed to be. My formal appointment to Warden-Commander of Ferelden also came with reprimands for my political actions during the Blight. Actions I only took because that’s what was needed to raise an army against the true enemy. That should be the only time a Warden becomes political, if it stands in the way of the Blight. And yet, the very institution that wanted to condemn me, has fallen so deep into the motions of political infighting that they failed to react to Corypheus, failed to save their Wardens from throat-slitting and demon-summoning, failed to react to red lyrium!” Her fists were clenched hard, and he found himself standing, wanting to offer some sort of comfort. He didn’t understand why she was telling him all of this, instead of a fellow Warden, instead of Nathaniel, but here she was. She was here, speaking of herself in a way she had seemed to be avoiding since she arrived. She had spoken of the time before the Blight easily enough, and even of some of her exploits after, but she never spoke of the actions during.

Even so, he didn’t know what to say to her. He knew little about Wardens and what they were and how they operated, and he knew even less of Weisshaupt and the higher ranks of Wardens. All he knew was the woman in front of him was angry about it, and he didn’t even know if he should address her by name or title.

“Once again, I find myself the only one willing to do what it takes for the Wardens. To rebuild them, make them into the revered figures that history once said they were. Why should I even try, though? I rebuilt them once, I was the last Grey Warden in Ferelden, and I rebuilt them! Tell me, how many of those Wardens out there are Ferelden? How many of my Wardens survived Clarel’s folly? A fraction of who I recruited! Most of the Ferelden Wardens I recruited myself, and now they’re dead, and a failed demon army is their legacy! They deserved more than that!” She had come free of the wall, starting to pace in short quick strides, like a caged animal. “Those that survived, especially the Orlesian mages, look at me with distrust, because I was absent! Because I was trying to do something for the greater good of the Wardens, but sometimes that requires secrecy!”

He reached out to try and put a hand on her arm, just a sign of comfort, and she spun around so fast he was face to face with her, just inches away. Her words halted, and she watched him warily, her eyes searching his face, searching for some reaction to her words. “My apologies, you have your own concerns...” The rest of her words were lost against his lips. He wanted to comfort her somehow, any way he could, but she was so close and those thoughts not far enough away. His hand slid from her arm to her hip, and it took another second before her surprise melted away, and she was impossibly kissing him back, her lips pressing firmly into his.

He couldn’t think for the impossibility of it all, of his boldness, of her willing response. His heart was pounding, and if he were dreaming, he pleaded to the Maker that he not wake up. Her hands found their way up against his chest, fingers tangling in the fur there. His free hand gripped her other hip, still covered in chain and robes. She moaned into his mouth and heat stabbed deeply into his gut. He found his hands slipping lower, pulling her up against him, pressing her back until he heard the chain scrape against his desk. Her legs spread as pressed himself forward, stepping between them.

The kiss broke and he kissed down her neck, salty against his lips from the sweat. Her breathing came in quick pants as she tugged at the ties on his breeches. He pushed the fabric of her robes up, fingers catching on her smalls as he tugged them down. She left his breeches to place her hands on the desk, lifting her arse up and letting him slide the fabric free and down her legs. Her stepped back between her legs before she could return to the laces, kissing her hard. He could feel himself straining against his breeches, but he was lost in her lips. Her legs hooked behind his, pulling him tighter against her, her hips rolling against the bulge in his breeches. She ground herself against him, and he matched the rhythm, tension coiling low in his stomach. A small keening whine was coming from deep in her throat, and she pulled her face from his, burying her face in the fur on his shoulder as her breathing came harder and more irregular. Her hips worked against his harder, and she shook in his arms. She had gasped his name once, twice in his ear before he realized what was happening. His desire flared more as she came undone in his arms, with fabric still between them. Her hands returned shakily to his breeches when a pounding at the door made them both freeze.

“Commander? My lady? I heard shouting.” It was the archer’s voice, Nathaniel’s.

Her eyes met Cullen’s, her face flushing deeper than just from exertion as she tugged her robes down where they belonged and pushed him back lightly, sliding to her feet unsteadily. She gave him a second to compose himself and to let her blushing die down before she opened the door. “Sorry, Nathaniel, I’m fine. I got a little... Heated in a discussion with the Commander about how absolutely _lovely_ Weisshaupt is. I needed a person that hadn’t heard it before.”

Whether the archer actually believed her excuse, Cullen didn’t know, because her body blocked him from view. His emotional turmoil was back in full force, faced with what he had done to her, and to be interrupted by her lover of all things. Maker’s mercy! Could he be a bigger fool? But the sound of his name on her lips as she was coming undone. He couldn’t regret that. He couldn’t tell himself that was something he regretted hearing. He only regretted it was going to be the last time he got to hear it.

Her conversation with Nathaniel drew her out of the office, the door clicking shut quietly behind her. He sunk into his chair, alone with his shame and lingering desire. The sight of her small clothes laying partially pushed under his desk did nothing to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gyaaah. Bleh. Like I said this chapter was hard for me. Comments and con crit always welcome, kudos make me squee.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really hate writing these things.
> 
> Cullen's very distracted, and too many people are trying to distract the Warden-Commander? Rousing speeches and arousing thoughts? Bleh.

”Congratulations, Inquisitor, you find yourself allied with the first company of free Wardens in recorded history.” Her tone was brisk and professional, but she wouldn’t look in Cullen’s direction. She hadn’t all morning, even as she quietly waited for the Inquisitor to pour over the map and make his major decisions of the day. “If you’ll have us, that is.”

Cullen was trying not to look at her for fear of something showing on his face: shame, regret, longing, desire, he didn’t know what, but he knew Josephine and Leliana saw much more than they ever let on. But Maker, how his name breathless on her lips had kept him up all night, shifting between an urge to go to her tower and finish what they started, or apologizing profusely for letting his baseness get the best of him.

“Free Wardens? I guess that is something, isn’t it? I’m sure more details will need to be worked out, but we accept the offer.” The Inquisitor smiled, as if he had expected no less. “You’re a force of troops, at the heart of it, so I’ll let our Commander converse with you on the details and you can get a rough sketch of alliance worked out. Does that sound good?”

“If that’s what you want, Inquisitor, consider it done. Once the alliance is official though, I would like to make the announcement myself, if I could. I have a long way to go to rebuild the reputation of the Wardens, and being the Hero of Ferelden... If I can win the respect of your troops, it will go a long way to helping.” Her arms were linked behind her back as she regarded the map laid before her without interest.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, should it, Commander?”

“Uh, no... No, it shouldn’t.” Cullen shook his head, trying to clear his head from the fog of thoughts that just wouldn’t leave him.

“Are you well, Commander?” Leliana asked, her voice lilting more with curiosity than confusion. Knowing her, she probably already knew everything. How, he could never figure out, but if someone managed to breath within Skyhold without her knowing how long they held that breath, it would be a miracle.

“Yes, well enough.” He said dismissively, waiting for the Inquisitor to call an end to the meeting.

He left as soon as he was able, trying not to be disturbed by her booted footsteps behind him. Andraste’s flaming sword, did the Inquisitor have to leave it up to them to confer about the alliance privately? Was the whole of Skyhold apparently against him now? Yet still, he opened the door for her as she followed him into his office, settling herself against the wall.

“The biggest issues with the alliance I foresee is housing and general use of Warden forces.” She said, wasting no time. “To be effective, we would have to be close by, Adamant would have been the best bet, but to rebuild out of the rubble... It’s better to build a whole hold from new than to try and build from destruction. Amaranthine is too far, and I need to speak with the Queen on the matter of where our separation from Weisshaupt puts me in regards to my arling and Vigil’s Keep. Maker willing, she’ll sympathize with us and I’ll have two outposts to work from.”

Maker, how could she stand in this room and pretend nothing had happened? He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. “Very well, but what of the actual alliance? As allies, I’m assuming it to be much like our alliance with Orlais? We call upon you for help, but you are still seperate and attend to your own matters, correct?”

“Yes. With Weisshaupt falling at even it’s basic tenets, I would like to keep my Wardens free to combat the Blight and Blight related matters. Red Templars and red lyrium would fall under this due to their nature stemming from Blight corruption. As for other matters, even without our Warden abilities, we’re second to none when it comes to battle prowess. You have any big battles that need a turning edge, we’re there. We need more of a presence in the world outside of the Blight. That hindered us ten years ago. No one respected us outside of dead legends and Blights past. We can no longer fade to the shadows.” She moved off the wall, dragging a chair to his desk and requesting a piece of parchment and ink as she sketched out details of the alliance she was imagining.

The piece of paper played between them, ink splattering and dropping everywhere in the haste and heat of the debate. Silence lapsed between discussions of certain terms. With something to focus on, he could finally turn his thoughts from her a little and more on the task at hand. Finally she was copying final terms onto a clean sheet of parchment in her clear, simple writing, more like the print in a book than a person’s handwriting. “I think it’s time to summon the troops, Commander. I’ll meet you in the field.” She stood, sanding the document and turning towards the door leading to her tower.

He nodded as she walked away, looking at the document like it was a death sentence. While he was relieved to have the seasoned soldiers of the Wardens, especially under reasonable leadership like Serafina, it also meant she would be around longer. She would be working with him, specifically, since this was a military alliance, and he was sure this would kill him. It had been a single day, but he couldn’t help thinking on his name on her lips, the heat of her pressed against him, her lips pressed against his, hungry and urgent. Maker’s mercy, they’d done barely anything at all, and he had less control than a dog around a bitch in heat.

She met him as she had said, looking no different except for the standard issue sword at her side had been replaced with a very formidable looking sword with an intricate hilt. With a start he realized it had to be Vigilance, the sword commissioned to the master smith Wade by the Warden-Commander before the Seige of Vigil’s Keep. The sword was almost synonymous with it’s owner. He could see why she hadn’t been wearing it, her secret would have been out in minutes.

Her Wardens were standing separate from the Inquisition forces, and she took a position on the stairs above them. She waited for them to quiet down. She waited until all eyes were on her.

“Most of you believe I am just another Warden, one from Weisshaupt, charged with finding a new purpose for the Wardens here. While there are elements of truth to this, it isn’t the full truth, and I apologize.” Her voice carried high over the field of men and women, clear and strong. “Some of you have had suspicions about me, and they are true. I am Warden Commander Amell, and Hero of Ferelden.” She drew her sword and used it to punctuate her statement, raising it above her head. Cullen almost rolled his eyes at the dramatics, until he looked at the soldiers. Many eyes had lit up, mouth parted in awe, as they watched her. Especially those he knew to be Fereldan. The Wardens saluted with pride in their eyes, and it dawned on him. No matter how damaged the Wardens reputations were by Clarel’s actions, Ferelden had never lost faith in it’s Hero. She was as apart from the Wardens in their minds as she was a part of it, simultaneous and exclusive in an impossible mix.

“I have asked my Wardens their thoughts, the very Wardens you have spent months now working alongside, spilling blood with, sharing stories of your families and loves and losses, and I have come up with an answer.” Her voice was growing louder, more emboldened, and he could see some of their Orlesian forces being drawn into her words. “They believe as strongly as I do that Wardens need to do more for Thedas, and they have tasted the possibilities of it by your sides under the guidance of your Commander! And that is where they will stay, Maker willing, and we will join you in your fight for order, if you will have us!”

He saw the clever trick in her words, the wording that made each and every soldier feel more a part of things and less a soldier being told the order of things. It reminded him of his own short words as he rallied the people to cheer during the Inquisitor’s appointment.

“Will you have us, Inquisition?”

The sound was deafening as swords left scabbards to raise in the air along with Vigilance, which she had held aloft this entire time. Cheering started, and he was aware of the Warden motto being said solemnly by the Wardens. She seized on this, waiting for quiet to spread through the ranks again. “In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. The motto of the Wardens, yes, but something all can aspire to. Let us give those words meaning again, together!”

“She didn’t shout the Archdemon down, did she? Should have tried, it probably would have worked.” The gruff voice came from behind him, though he shouldn’t have been surprised that the Warden-Commander’s speech would draw Blackwall. There were rumors that the man was thinking of asking to Join properly.

“No one knows exactly what happened on the top of Fort Drakon, but no, I doubt her words swayed the beast.” Cullen responded dryly, still unable to forgive the man for his deception, but the Inquisitor had decided that he was worth saving, and he would have to live with that.

All he got was a grunt back, and he watched as the troops jostled each other for a while before finally trickling away after the Warden-Commander took her leave. Several soldiers approached him, and he answered their questions as best he could, their eyes still alight with lingering awe, and really, could he blame them? Actions of the Wardens aside, she was a living legend. The stories that circulated around her had her coming ahead of an Archdemon, talking darkspawn, mindless hordes, werewolves, golems, the Dead Trenches, an Orzammar Proving, golems, demons, the undead, dragons, crazed cults and more. Her unwavering sense of right and wrong were prevalent in these tales, as was her selflessness.

And she had come undone in his arms.

_Maker’s mercy!_

He retrieved himself something to eat direct from the kitchens, planning to take his dinner in his office, aware of muffled shouting from the neighboring tower, but unable to make out any of the words, until the door opened and Leliana was shown the way out, of all people. Just behind her he could see the Warden-Commander’s face, mottled red. “Enough, begone, Divine or no, you presume too much about things you don’t understand.” The younger of the women hissed. “I wish to speak to you no longer!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a needed filler chapter between the smut of the last chapter and the... well, you'll see next chapter, won't you?
> 
> I love comments and constructive criticism, they motivate me. Kudos make me squee, which lets my family have an excuse for looking at me funny.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's forced to figure out if he can keep someone's faith in him, Cole prods at more wounds as he has a tendency of doing, and Serafina's demeanor starts melting.
> 
> p.s. - have I mentioned I hate writing these?

Waking up was the violent part this night, not the nightmares. He was aware of cold hands pressing into his side as he was shaken, a voice babbling and frantic in his ear. He was up and groping the floor for his breeches before his senses started returning to him. Cole was in his room, and his words were coming to him in a frantic state that he had only heard about in secondhand stories from Adamant.

“Dark things talk to her, making dark promises her head knows can’t be real, but the heart hopes too hard. The heart clouds the head until there’s nothing left. Too long fighting, too long longing, lonely, listless. Stay, it says, stay it says with his voice like honey, a balm for her heartache.” The frail boy was talking with such intensity, staring Cullen down through his shock of blond hair as the Commander hastily tied the laces. The spirit seemed to try to be willing him to understand, too lost in whatever pain was plaguing him to speak plainly. “Voice like honey, like his eyes. Maker, those eyes. Honeyed eyes will be the death of me. Cullen. Counting. Counting on him.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Cullen asked, taking the boy by his shoulders, forcing him to look at him again.

“Would you have really struck me down?”

His blood ran cold as the words were repeated, in the wrong voice, but with the same inflection, the damned spirit’s head tipping to the side, just as hers had.

“Get Cassandra!” He ordered, sliding down his ladder with as little hesitation as possible. His feet hit the ground hard, sending shock waves and pin pricks up his legs. The stone was cold beneath his feet, and he almost threw himself into his door, unlatching it just in time, and for the first time, thanking the Maker she had chosen the tower so close to him. The door was barred though, and he smashed against it, feeling his shoulder and hip bruise with the force, but he heard the wood creak under the stress.

* * *

 

“Since when do you sleep in, my dear?”

Serafina swatted futilely at the stubbled face that was nuzzling against her neck, placing warm kisses down across her collar bone. “Since now.” She muttered, turning and pressing her face further into her pillow. A deep chuckle rumbled against her sternum as he kissed lower, pulling the soft sheet further down her body. Lips teased the scars from the Battle of Ostagar, where three arrows had gone through her after lighting the beacon.

“Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful.” Her heart caught as it did every time he said it, the honest raw sincerity in his voice so evident in every word. She opened an eye to watch him, watch him as he watched her. His eyes roved over her, not in an indecent way, but almost reverent. “I am a lucky man.”

“You’re a sweet talker.” She accused, feeling her lips curl up into a smile. She could feel a blush starting to prick at her cheeks. His hands started following the trails his eyes had started, callouses rasping at her skin, catching lightly on her marked skin, the quiet of the room turning the slight sound into a song of it’s own. A song of acceptance and wonder. She was smiling wider now, despite her own intentions not to feed his ego.

“No, I’m charming.” He drawled, burying his face in her neck again, purposely dragging his stubble over the sensitive skin there, laughing deeply as she squealed at the tickling, grabbing the pillow beside her and shoving it into his face as she attempted to wiggle away. Two strong arms caught her around her bare waist, turning and pulling her on top of him. She straddled his waist, hands splayed on his chest for support. She could feel him harden against her belly and she shivered.

“Be that as it may, why the urgency in waking me up?” She laughed, openly and freely, as only he seemed to be able to do, leaning down and kissing him before his could answer. She could taste hints of the bread and cheese he usually ate for breakfast, simple fare that they were both accustomed to. He moaned into her mouth, his hands firm and warm on her hips.

_Wake up, Serafina! Don’t listen to it!_

“Do I need an excuse to want to wake my lovely wife so I can lavish my attention upon her?” He asked with that lopsided and cocky grin of his.

“Oh, is that all this is? Someone’s eager to go lamp post licking, but had no one to join him?” She teased, wiggling her hips in a way that had him sucking in his breath, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his eyes darkening with desire.

“You’re a wicked woman, but I love you so.” He tried to roll them, but she held firm, pressing her hands into his shoulders to keep him back as she rolled her hips slowly.

_It isn’t real! You must wake up! Deny it, Serafina!_

“Is something wrong?” Concern bloomed in his voice as a frown replaced her teasing smile.

“Did you hear that, Alistair?” She raised her head to look at the door, or where the door should be... But found her eyes drawn back down to the man below her and in between her legs. Her Alistair.

“I didn’t hear anything.” His hand cupped her face, his eyes full of concern, pulling her down to rest her forehead against his.

_Please! Don’t make me do this!_

“There it was again.” She made to get up, to check the door, people had to be getting close to their room for it to be so clear, but once again strong arms were pinning her where she was, wrapped tightly around her. “Alistair, I’m just going to check real quick. Let me up.”

_Deny it! Serafina, can you hear me? Don’t take it’s offer!_

“Stay with me?” His voice was so soft, so worried, her heart hurt for him. Why did it hurt? Why was it so hard to look away from him, to look at the door? Just to ensure the bolt was in place? Why couldn’t she?

_Maker please, please let her hear me. If you’ve any mercy at all._

“Alistair...” She pulled back, to really look at him. To focus. Then at her own body. The scar on her leg from the fight with The Mother, faded, but rough. The star burst of where her own bone had come through her arm after failing to escape the falling corpse of an Ogre, incurred sometime after the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall, before she left that section of the Deep Roads to Nathaniel and his squad. She looked back at him, at all the scars on his own body. She could name every battle he got them in, or every childhood mishap he had told her about. But there wasn’t a single one she could find that might have new stories attached. Proficient as she was, even now, scars happened. Her hand traced the scar along her collar bone, a memento from the Battle of Denerim. Denerim. The Archdemon. Why did her head hurt so bad?

One hand held her head as the other balanced her against his chest. She was shuddering, her brain forming around the answer, but unable to fill it. Why couldn’t she look at any more of the room? Why were there missing scars. Why did thinking on the Battle of Denerim hurt so badly?

_O Maker, hear my cry:_   
_Guide me through the blackest nights_   
_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_   
_Make me to rest in the warmest places._

“Why are you wearing his face?” She hissed between clenched teeth, heat growing under her palm, the magic coming in one easy pull. “You are not worthy of his face, you vile creature!” Flames bloomed from under her palm, scorching deep into his chest, a feminine shriek filling the room as purple skin replaced tawny, feminine curves replaced battle-borne muscle, horns took the place of silky blond locks.

* * *

 

“Commander, stand back!” Cassandra snapped as green eyes flew open wide, the suddenness with which Serafina moved unbalancing him, flames sprouting from her finger tips. He caught her shoulder in his free hand as she tried to stand, pressing her down into her bed as Cassandra denied the magic she was drawing on. The mage’s eyes went wild, searching the room, searching for an escape, but he kept her pinned, and Cassandra’s sword was in his hand. He could see her panic, feeling the frantic rising of her chest at how completely vulnerable she was.

“Serafina, it’s okay. You’re back. You’re whole.” He said as calmly as he could, ignoring his own pounding heart, his own shaking hands. He had had the blade just an inch from her neck a moment before, steeling himself against the inevitable. His shoulder throbbed from where it had finally knocked the door free of its hinges.

Slowly her breathing calmed, and he released the pressure on her shoulders, standing and taking a step back to allow her to collect herself. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her head buried in her hands. “Leave me, I need time.” Her voice was rough, but her own.

Cassandra exchanged a glance with Cullen, one that searched his face asking if it was truly wise to leave her on her own, and his face must have said yes, because she walked to the stairs first. He felt numb and too wired to go back to sleep as he returned to his office, only to find Cole sitting on his desk.

“You make her real. Not in the way Templars do. Not like Cassandra or the others. You make her real like he did, and that frightens her. You make her a person, and she’s terrified.” He turned a book in his hands, studying but not really looking at it. “She’s the pages of a book. Tightly pressed and hidden, something unknown in a shell that doesn’t inspire reading. It’s safer that way.”

“I... Cole-- I thank you for your help, but I need time to clear my head. May I please have my office to myself?” He saw the spirit out of his chambers before slumping into his chair, the fatigue from the past few days and now this ordeal washing over him. He knew he was shaking, and he could do nothing to control it. Twelve years ago he had told her he would have cut her down because it was his duty to the Chantry and the Maker. And yet, just moments ago, he wasn’t sure he could, and was glad Cassandra was there with him. She would not have failed where he might have.

What could the demon use to keep her so deeply rooted, a woman as powerful as herself? _More regrets, more pains, more wants, more things I denied myself._ It chilled him to think on what could have been. If he had failed, if she had turned into an abomination and he failed to strike her down before it was complete, would Cassandra have been strong enough to take her alone?

He climbed his way into his room to retrieve the rest of his clothes, planning to clear his mind in the lovely garden the Inquisitor had outfitted for the faithful. Faith always helped him in trying moments such as this. Skyhold seemed deserted at this time of morning, the usually temperate climate of the hold cooler at this time, hints of frosted dew hanging on the tops of battlements and steps.

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.” The prayer was already coming from the small room that sheltered the statue of Andraste, and he found Serafina knelt in front of it, her hair damp and loose, in nothing but a simple sleeping shift.

“I didn’t know you prayed.” He said softly. Indeed, he had bore witness to the few attempts she had made with Keili during her stay in the tower. Most had her awkwardly stumbling over lines she probably hadn’t known in the first place, but had made an effort for the sake of pleasing the other woman.

She jumped slightly, turning her head to look at him for a long moment. She looked so frail and haggard, her eyes bored into his with and he could almost feel the rawness of her, the armor stripped away from her in more than the physical. “You find faith in the strangest of places, and never when you expect.” She said softly, moving over slightly to make room for him if he wanted to join her.

“I... I’m sorry for the start we gave you this morning. Cole woke me, he was... Frantic. You... You said you were counting on me, I... Didn’t want to let you down.” The words were stumbled over, halting and unsure, how do you even address someone you almost had to kill an hour before? And yet, she smiled, and her eyes crinkled a little at the corners. The knot in his chest unraveled just a little bit, and he knelt next to her.

“Thank you, Cullen.” This time his name was said not in a tone of pleading insecurity as on the night in the tavern, or impassioned as it had just the other night, but with a tone of confidence, as if she were letting him into a secret. “No one... Well, no one but you, Cassandra and I know how... Difficult it can be for me. My Wardens suspect, I’m sure, but I don’t think they think of it as more than the normal danger of being a mage. They don’t pause and think of the extra ways a demon could entice me. I don’t think they know enough of me to even begin to speculate.”

“I can only imagine. Not even Nathaniel knows?” The question was out, and he couldn’t even find shame in the asking.

“Nathaniel? Why would he?” Her brows knit together.

“I... Well he’s... Your...”

“My what? Lover?” She actually chuckled at that, shaking her head. “You think he’s my lover? No, he’s not. He’s just a very good friend, one of my oldest friends, besides Oghren. His heart belongs to a wild Dalish keeper that’s off scouring some part of Thedas for her sister. She often does, but she returns to him frequently, with some fragile excuse or another.” She smiled softly, shifting her position to sitting rather than kneeling. She wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her head on top of them.

“I’m sorry for presuming.” He could feel his face heat up, even though she took it so gracefully.

“My lover he... He was with me this morning, his face a mask for the demon.” She said in the barest of whispers. “There were three Wardens that entered Denerim during the battle.” She said louder, drawing a deep breath.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Cullen said quickly.

“Thank you, Cullen, really, but if you don’t mind listening... I think I’m ready to finally talk about it.”

There was his name again, this time said like you would address a friend, and he found himself unable to deny her the simple request of being someone to talk to.

“Did you know there were three of us?” She asked, her fingers tugging absently at a loose thread at the bottom of her shift.

“I was only aware of two. Yourself, obviously, and the Warden that slew the Archdemon.”

“Alistair.” Her voice broke. “His name was Alistair. He was a wondrous man. A boy really, when we met, as much as I was just a girl. Duncan had conscripted him from the Chantry. He was supposed to be a Templar, but Duncan got to him first, before he took his vows.” She chuckled sadly. “We... Grew close. He had been sent to the Chantry to be raised much as I had been sent to the Circle. We were two people, barely adults, with everything stacked against us. It just... Happened along the way. We got to Denerim, and found a Warden, Riordan, and things looked up, if only for a minute. The Warden that slays the Archdemon dies. They pretend it’s a secret, but just look at history. None of the other Wardens who slayed an Archdemon were recorded to have survived the Blight they ended. Riordan was the senior Warden, and the duty fell to him, but then he fell in battle. I was supposed to take the final blow. It was decided before the battle that I was to slay the Archdemon if Riordan failed. Alistair... He...” Her voice caught, and she took a deep shuddering breath. “The Maker-damned fool... He grabbed his sword before I could move, told me he would always love me, and charged it. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in spot... And I watched him die.”

“Maker’s mercy.”

“I found his body afterwards. I... It just didn’t seem like him. I don’t remember much after that. Leliana said I went mad, the first few soldiers that tried to take him... I tried setting them on fire. Afterwards it was decided that it was in the best interest of his memory that his... Involvement with me was covered up. His memory worked best as the former Templar bastard prince that slew the Archdemon, telling people he dared risk loving a mage would have damaged both the Chantry and sullied the name of the royal family. They didn’t even want to give him that... I had to ply all my favor with the court and Anora for them to grant him a memorial alongside his father and brother. That’s all he ever wanted, a family.” Her voice was shaking, but steadier than it had been. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her shift, the knuckles white. “After his funeral... I was halfway to the Circle tower to submit myself to Tranquility when Wynne and Leliana caught me. It hurt so bad I couldn’t breath, and looking back it sounds like an incredibly foolish reaction, people die everyday, but it made sense to try at the time.”

He didn’t know what to say, watching her sit there, wringing the fabric like a nervous child, telling him words she probably hadn’t spoken aloud, ever, or discussed with anyone who wasn’t there. She seemed younger and older all at the same time. Younger in the earnest words and conviction in her statements, but all those thoughts and doubts bowed her shoulders and darkened her eyes. After a long silence, he steeled his nerve and just pulled her into a hug. He felt her stiffen at first, then relax.

“Thank you, Cullen.”

And he decided that a friend was what she probably needed more than whatever he had attempted to be the other night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had picked the Chant verse she was going to recite a week or two ago, and while I have already played Inquisition, I didn't realize it was the same verse he uses until about a week after I picked it. It still fit, so I used it anyways. 
> 
> My apologies for this chapter for any excessive angst or feels. I kinda started tearing up while writing it. My family thinks I'm crazy. Oh well.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism always welcome, and Kudos make me squee!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breather episodes of sorts, with a bit of fluff and apologies towards our favorite terrorist.

The War Room council was called later that day, and the Warden-Commander was back to business, dressed in her armor again, hair neatly brushed and braided, with no sign of the mornings struggle on her face. The only differences in her were subtle, Vigilance was at her side now, her stance wasn’t quite as defensive. She watched the Inquisitor pour over their terms of Alliance with patience, her brow smooth and relaxed. Cullen couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of himself by being able to help lift some of the weight off of her.

Leliana, on the other hand, was not making any sort of contact with the Warden-Commander. She did not look in her direction, did not speak any words to her, did not even act as if she were in the room. In fact, if Cullen didn’t know better, he would have thought the Spymaster looked guilty. He wondered what they had argued about, but figured it wasn’t his place to ask either woman about it.

“I think this will do quite nicely.” The Inquisitor said at last, looking up from parchment for a final time. He had looked up frequently while reading to study her when he thought she wasn’t looking. It was probably out of concern for his fellow mage, there was no doubt he knew what had happened, Cole had probably woken Cassandra out of the Inquisitor’s bed, most likely.

“I’m fine, thank you for the concern.” She answered when she caught him this time. She smiled lightly, and it was different from the others he’d seen, until Cullen realized she hadn’t truly been smiling before. Those hadn’t reached her eyes. “It’s a tough fact of life, being a mage.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He nodded, trying to push the concern out of his face. “Well, we’ll have to end the meeting here. I need to head out to the Hinterlands, and the sooner I get going, the sooner I can be back.”

They scattered from the War Room shortly after, Josephine going to see the Inquisitor and his party off, making sure they were well supplied. Leliana made straight for the Rookery, and Serafina found her way to Rosalie and Varric, a purposeful look on her face. He wished the troublesome duo wasn’t watching him the way they were. He made off to his office, leaving them to whatever business they had to attend to, and tried not to think to hard on that.

* * *

 

“So, Anders.” Was how the conversation began, and Serafina watched her cousin stiffen and become wary.

“What about him?” The older woman answered, regarding her with open suspicion.

“It seems to me you would know where he is. I’d like to see and talk to an old friend, if I could. Two of them technically.” She crossed her arms and waited.

“Two of them? You knew Justice too? Hero, you and I gotta talk.” Varric interrupted, both to distract the Warden, and because this was just getting too good.

“Please, Hawke? I’m not going to harm him. I’m not going to drag him back to the Wardens, I’m not going to do anything but talk and give him something. I can find him without you, I’d just like to do it in a way that builds more trust than animosity.” She sighed, ignoring the dwarf. “Call him here, please. I won’t force him back to the Wardens, but I can use my status as Warden-Commander and his as a Warden to keep him safe here, and not freezing on the mountains alone.”

The idea tempted the older woman, she could tell, she could see the longing and loneliness in her. She knew it too well herself.

“Fine, but if anything happens to him, I will kill you myself, related or not. We’ve been through too much for anything to happen now.” Hawke’s brow was furrowed with worry, but she had spent too much time away from him to be able to pass up the opportunity to spend time with him in peace.

“You have my word as a cousin, Warden, Warden-Commander, or the Hero of Ferelden, whichever one happens to mean more to you,”

“Politics in a nutshell.” Varric said with a wry smile.

* * *

 

Rosalie hadn’t told him much about why he needed to come to Skyhold with her now. She just assured him it was safe for him, and nothing would happen. He was hesitant at first, but then she was kissing him and he forgot his argument. It was too good to pass up, a real bed and the ability to hold her at night. Even if this was a trap she’d been coerced into, he’d risk it for one last comfortable night together.

That is, until she led him into one of the towers, until he saw the Warden-Commander. He felt the rage bubble over too fast, too sudden for him to do anything about, make any attempt to control it. Justice was raging in his head, something about how she had abandoned them when she left Amaranthine, about how she had done nothing to help mages over the years, about how the order had fallen so low that Hawke had been dragged into matters.

He could feel Hawke grab his arm, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Justice shrugged her off and was advancing on the Warden-Commander, who was doing nothing but standing there, watching him. Frozen, he thought at first, terrified, but there was no fear in her face. She did not fear Justice or Vengeance or whatever he was approaching her.

“Justice, please.” She said, hands outspread, palms up. “Hold a moment?”

He wasn’t going to, Anders realized, Justice wanted to make her pay for her absence and the damage it had caused. He was almost on her when he heard the singing, and stopped. Nestled in her palm, separated from her skin with a thick piece of leather, was a small blue ring. It was a rare moment that Justice pulled on his own memories, and it was always strange for Anders. The older Warden-Commander before him was replaced with the younger one with the broken smile and sad eyes, in heavy armor instead of her distinctive mailed robe, holding out the ring to him the first time. A token of friendship, understanding of him being a spirit. That thought stayed Justice, and gave Anders the chance to reinstate control over his body.

Except the Warden-Commander in front of him had a broken smile and sad eyes, just set in an older face. “I left for just a little bit, and look what happened.” She spoke quietly, looking him over. Once, a younger him would have very much appreciated her scrutiny, but now he couldn’t place her intent. “They acted without my orders, Anders. Weisshaupt went over my head and stationed the Templars there even after I denied the assignment change. I knew what they were attempting, and tried to stop it. They waited until I couldn’t do anything about it.”

He didn’t say anything to her yet, and he could feel Hawke’s hands on his arm again, and he leaned into her, overwhelmed for the moment. He hadn’t expected this to be waiting for him here. Not the Warden-Commander, not a confession and not... Ser Pounce-a-Lot?

The striped orange cat was a lot bigger than he remembered, and had just dropped a mouse at his feet, sitting and staring at the mage with impatient expectation. After no reaction, he voiced a complaint. “You... Have my cat?”

“Another thing they didn’t run by me. Why would I ever make you give up a cat I gave you in the first place? When I found out, I brought him back to Vigil’s Keep, he’s become quite the good mouser, if you haven’t noticed.” She shrugged, seeming almost embarassed now, putting the ring back into a small box. “I had Garavel have someone bring him to me last week, I figured you would be coming with Hawke.”

“You left... And came back and retrieved Justice’s ring and my cat?” He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why would she have done that? Ser Pounce-a-Lot was twining around his legs now, occasionally pausing to bat at the mouse.

“Yes. And one more thing.” She approached him, pressing something hot into his hand. A small vial of blood, thrumming and glowing and hot. “I made a point of tracking down as many phylacteries belonging to my Wardens as possible, once tensions got bad enough between mages and Templars. I wasn’t going to let them die just because it was another phylactery a mad Templar happened to find.”

“I... You...” For a year or two after leaving the Wardens, he had thought about the things he would say to her if he ever saw her again. Curses for leaving, for abandoning him and other mages to their plight, for betraying the family he thought had formed at Vigil’s Keep, for her hollow words and cold heart. Only for everything to be shoved back at him, arguments made invalid before he ever got to make them.

“I told you I wasn’t going to hurt him.” She said, looking at Hawke.

“No, but you broke him.” A hand waved it front of his face, drawing his attention down to his lover, who was studying his face with concern. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. Just a lot to take in. Told you I had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-Lot.”

“So you did indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda... just needed to get this out of my system and have a breather between the last chapter and more possible angst. Dunno yet, we'll see what the next chapter holds, won't we?
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism always welcome, kudos make me squee. 
> 
> Thoughts or suggestions? Anything you'd like to see, lemme know in the comments. (Really, commenters are my heroes)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this took. Crazy work stuff and possibly the fact that Tumblr got downloaded onto my phone. I still don't know how to use it fully, but I have found that even though I always play females and romanced Fenris with a Lady Hawke, boy do I love me some M!Hawke x Fenris goodness. 
> 
> I digress. Anyways, have I mentioned how entirely awesome you guys are? In less than a month I've gotten almost 2000 hits between all my works. I guess I have less ground to stand on when I tell my boyfriend my writing sucks, don't i? Thank you so much for the support. I don't deserve such (what do I call you? Fans?). 
> 
> And I apologize for the waterfall of dialogue. There was no other way.

”You brought an apostate mage his cat back?” His voice was incredulous, just staring at the woman in front of him. “Not just any apostate... THE apostate. The Destroyed-A-Chantry-and-Let-A-City-Burn apostate. You brought him a ring, a cat, and you GAVE HIM HIS PHYLACTERY!”

“Yes.” She said simply, leaning back against the wall. Her arms were crossed, and he could almost see her physically closing herself off, pulling back to the distance there was before.

“Yes? That’s all you have to say?” He was making an effort to calm himself down, not wanting to damage the new found friendship, but the Templar in him had reared up tremendously when he had found out what happened.

“He’s still here, isn’t he? He hasn’t fled, he hasn’t destroyed Skyhold. He’s sitting in his room, trying to entice his cat to cuddle with him, and making Hawke feel jealous of a cat.” She rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall, looking at the ceiling. “He’s not a bad person, Cullen, he’s a good person that bad things happened to until he snapped. I would think you of all people could relate.”

His mouth gaped open, staring at her again, but for different reasons now. Was she suggesting... Implying that he... That he had anything in common with that mage?

“My compassion has doomed us all?” She said quietly, without accusation, just a quiet reminder.

“Maker’s breath, Serafina, I didn’t mean... I didn’t mean it like that. I... I was there, when the Chantry blew, I saw what it caused.” He pinched his brow, bent over his desk, his head pounding. She was so easy to talk to and so infuriating at the same time, the way she could dance and spar with her words.

“Yes, you were there at Kinloch too. I didn’t get to see everything that happened there either, but that didn’t make me wrong in the end, did it?” She shifted her weight and settled again. “It doesn’t mean I’m right, either, but I had to do something.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” He insisted, taking a deep breath. “He got the war he wanted, but what if this outcome isn’t enough? What if he wants more?”

“Do you have family, Cullen? I’ve never asked before. Do you write them? Love them? Do they love you?”

“I don’t see what this has to do with--”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” His breath whistled out as another heavy sigh, watching the woman warily.

“Good. Having family is a good thing.” She nodded her head slightly, voice soft and contemplative. “I don’t. I mean, I have people that are related to me, sure. I don’t know them, I haven’t met them. I only found out about them after I left the circle. I’m the youngest of seven. Did you know that? My mother, Revka, had seven children, and every single one of us a mage. Caused quite a stir, I’m led to believe, cost the Amells the seat of the Viscount, even. I’ve never met them, never learned their names, I don’t know if they’re brothers or sisters, or if they still live. The only family I have, is the family I make for myself.”

The silence dragged on so long he wasn’t sure she was going to continue, or if she were waiting on him to say something. He wasn’t sure what to say if that were the case, he hadn’t expected this change in conversation, this sharp veer from danger to family.

“You’ve seen these types of families before. The Templars of the Circle were family to you, weren’t they? It wouldn’t be so hard to think that the Inquisitor finds his inner circle to be as close to him as family, maybe closer, would it? Consider Blackwall, or Rainier if you will. You dislike the man after you found out what he did. Did the Inquisitor leave him to his death?”

“No, but that’s different, he didn’t kill--”

“They were still innocents, Cullen, people who didn’t deserve to die. The Inquisitor spared him because he was trying to do better, become a better person. Anders was a good person once, he helped refugees in Kirkwall when everything else was failing them. He can be a good person again, but only if we give him the option to be. If we hound him over that one error, no matter how big it was, and judge that the entirety of his character, how can he ever redeem himself?” Her gaze had come down from the ceiling, and she was pinning the other Commander with shining hard eyes. “If we judge him on the entirety of one failure as if we have the right, then am I not subject to being judged by my failure at the top of Fort Drakon and allowing a subordinate soldier break rank? Are you not subject to being judged solely on your inability or unwillingness to stop Meredith? We cannot judge one another solely on their actions in a single act, no matter how large or how minor, and no one person has the power to decide what someone should or should not pay for their transgressions. Anders is my family, Cullen, I accepted him as such eleven years ago, and while I do not approve of what he has done, I’d like to believe he can come back from this.”  
He found himself shifting under the weight of her stare and the weaving of her words. “Maker’s mercy.” He ground out after another long stretch of silence. “I see how you swayed an entire nation into helping you.” He couldn’t help but smile just slightly, thinking back on the girl in the Circle, and wondering if she’d have ever been so bold then.

“Nobles listen to pretty words.” She shrugged, “If he fails, Cullen, if he is irredeemable, I will help you hunt him myself. Will that put you at ease?”

“I suppose it will have to, at least until the Inquisitor is back. He has the final word on the matter, not me.” He rubbed the back of his neck, finally seating himself back at his desk. Stone scraped as her posture relaxed, foot back on the floor, pushed off from the wall and heading towards the extra chair that was now reserved for her.

“My apologies for bringing up Kinloch. It was a dirty blow, and unworthy of me to bring up.”

He snorted, slightly. “But your words were no less true. Sometimes I still let it color my words and my thoughts, try as I might to put it behind me.”

“You don’t talk about it, that’s the issue. I’ve recently discovered that talking about things can make you feel better.” Serafina’s lip was curled ever so slightly into a self-teasing smirk.

“It’s not my favorite subject, but I suppose I could try.” _For you, at least. You understand, I hope._ “But first, I have a question. Something that I always wondered.”

“Ask away.”

“There must have been demons barring your path to the Harrowing chamber, not just abominations. Did none of them tempt you, none swayed you?”

“A sloth demon attempted. It caught us, Alistair, Zevran, Wynne, and myself. It put us to sleep and into dreams to try and keep us from leaving. That’s what Sloth demons do, I suppose.”

“And it failed obviously. Were you not tempted?”

“It failed at guessing what I wanted. I guess I was harder to read then, I wanted less out of life, or at least expected it. I found myself in a vision of Weisshaupt, surrounded by men I didn’t know or barely knew, and was told the Blight was over. A cold fortress was nothing I wanted, and I knew the man in front of me to be dead, slain by an ogre in Ostagar. Nothing there held appeal for me. Part of me still wished I had never left the Circle, never became a Warden, so I wanted not for their fortress or their camaraderie. I wanted my library, my books, my room I never used. I wanted love and acceptance for who I was, not my title, or which order I belonged to. Those would have been harder to leave. I fought the demons that wore Warden faces, and I freed the others from their dreams, and we defeated Sloth. It sounds miraculous to others, but it wasn’t.”

“You give yourself little credit.”

“I’m told that’s one of my better qualities. But, we’re supposed to be talking about you, and not me.”

“I... It’s embarrassing to say, though I know I said some of it when you found me. Saying it again, now, while lucid, it’s... Daunting. I suppose I made no secret of my feelings for you in the Circle. Everyone knew, that’s why I ended up at your Harrowing, It was Greagoir’s ‘gentle’ way of reminding me of what you were and what I was. The demons found that feeling, took it and ran with it and showed me everything I had ever thought about you, no matter how briefly. They tried every approach they could think of.” He could almost see the vision, and it still caused a lump at his throat. In part, because he knew they were lies, and he knew they were false, and the other part of him because they had been what he wanted, and sometimes he wondered if he still wanted them.

Visions of her in a simple dress and not her Circle robes, a simple picnic out by the lake he frequented as a child. Watching her interact with his family, playing chess with Mia, sharing book with Rosalie, and teasing Branson. Those had been the hardest to shake, the visions of a normal life filled with love and acceptance, like she had said would have tempted her. Though the demons had tried more primal ways to tempt him as well, with visions of what would or could have happened if he had taken her up on her offer to speak with her in her room, or twisted variations of his own fantasies that had crept up on him in weak moments in the night.

“Were they all of me?”

He had expected her to sound mortified, perhaps even repulsed. That’s what one should feel when it’s revealed your image had been despoiled in so many ways, wasn’t it? That demons had used your likeness to torture a man emotionally and carnally? Instead she sounded guilty, of all things. “Not all of them, no. They tried other ways, more general ways, things that succeeded with the other Templars, but once they found that... They wanted to try little else.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Serafina, it’s not your fault. My feelings were my own, There was nothing you could do to prevent them, anything else and you wouldn’t be yourself.” Her reaction was making it easier to not be embarrassed, focusing more on taking her misplaced guilt away. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, focusing on her hands in her lap.

“Still, I’m sorry. I can understand why I might not have been the best sight at that time...”

“I’m sorry for the things I said. I regretted them ever since.”

“I know.” And a ghost of a smile drifted over her face, and he thought that maybe sharing pains was helping, and was worth it for those ghost smiles that came like a rainbow after a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, reviews, suggestions, con crit, whatever makes you guys my heroes, and Kudos make me squee.


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